To Quoth a Bard
by LaCerise
Summary: A series of one-shots inspired by various quotes in the media, literature, songs etc. What was death? Was it a mere flicker, like the extinguishing of a flame, or a grand curtain call? Who knows...do you? Do I? Percival/Cecilia. For darkblaziken.
1. A Knight By Any Name

**A Knight By Any Other Name**

* * *

_Romeo and Juliet, Act 2 Scene 2_

_Juliet:_

_What's in a name? That which we call a rose_

_By any other name would smell as sweet_

* * *

The Sun hung low at the horizon, the last rays of its rapidly fading light illuminating the earth. Fluffy clumps of clouds drifted lazily in the dusk sky, stained a myriad of colours. Crimson, like the red roses that used in neatly-arranged gardens; orange, like the ripe plump fruits that grew succulently on orchards that used to line villages; pink, like the rosy blush on the faces of the young boys that scampered around the city engrossed in their games of chase…

The beauty of the Grado sunset may have survived, but the country had not. Following the rowdy dissonance of the War of Sacred Stones, stirred up by none other than his late highness Prince Lyon himself, Grado had fallen to ruins. Bandits had roamed freely, terrorizing villages and engaging in all forms of barbaric acts; black markets had mushroomed and flourished, dispersing the stench of deceit, trickery and illicit engagements. Villages were burnt; castles were torn down; families were shattered; loved ones were buried.

Gone forever, that was what Grado had experienced, in his opinion. The original picturesque painting that was what that made up the cornerstones of the Grado Empire. But with the war, those had disappeared forever, vanished, together with the hope, happiness and charity that once burst forth freely from the hearts and minds of the Grado people.

The sharp point of his lance grazed the ground lightly as he breathed in deeply, inhaling the fresh air, perfumed with the slightly pungent but rejuvenating fragrance of the woodlands, a medley of smells from wood sap, birch, acacia and evening blooms thrown together in a jumbled arrangement. It didn't sound appetizing, but it was actually this spicy, moist combination that had started to appeal to his olfactory senses.

But underneath everything pleasant and seemingly calm, his acute senses would perceive the undercurrents of chaos and pain under the façade. Deep down, buried under the layers of restorations and rebuilding, lay the rippling deep-set ache and grievances of the civilians of Grado who had suffered during the war. No matter how much he tried to ignore it, he could not shake off his knowledge that the stench of rotting death, harsh betrayal, delusional madness and shaken fear still saturated the dirtier half of the atmosphere lingering over Grado, clouding the hearts of the civilians like a shroud of grief and doom.

So many victims had been sacrificed in the course of the senseless war, his brother Glen being one of the foremost. The crazed general Valter had slew his brother in his delirious quest for more power and authority, and he relished the feeling of his battle with Valter, when he had slammed his lance into the beast's chest and watched slowly in a cruel satisfaction as he watched the lifeblood drain out of Valter's twitching body down the lance and onto his hands.

At that point, he had wondered who had been more crazed, him or Valter. Those hands, red from the freshly-spilled crimson blood, trembled as he stared at them. He could hardly believe himself. Those hands were stained; every knuckle, every crease and every wrinkle lined with the salty smell of warm blood. Individual drops of blood dripped down his fingernails, mingling with his sweat and falling like rain against the desert sand. He had slain a life, and he had felt good about it.

That instant, he felt like an utter brute, a beast from the wilderness torn by bloodlust and animalistic desires such as revenge and hate. The blood pounded in his head, screaming in victory in his slaying of Valter to avenge his brother, but his breath constricted. He was no better than Valter, or any of those Grado curs. In fact, he was slowly but surely turning into one of them, a senseless raving beast propelled by hatred, vengeance and selfishness. As he watched the blood dripping rhythmically down from his soaked crimson hands, he had contemplated taking his life to stop himself should he deteriorate into further lunacy.

That was when _she _came over to him, his constant companion whom he had set up a relay warning system with to alert each other of danger. She didn't look put off by his disheveled appearance, the wild look blazing in his pupils or the putrid gore dripping from his hands and face. He roared at her to stay away lest he harmed her in his insane state of mind, but she calmly walked over to him with a determined look in her eyes.

He had watched as she retrieved a white pristine handkerchief from the pockets of her skirt and grabbed his hands. He had attempted to pull away, to frighten her away with his words when he was frantic with worry that he might hurt her, but she held fast, her eyes burning with a steely resolve. Straightening his fingers, she wiped the blood, gore and sweat off his fingers one by one, before proceeding to cleanse his palm and the back of his hand.

Her hand had reached up to wipe the sweat off his brow, the mud from his cheeks and the blood from his chin, but he had held her hand in an iron grip, unrelenting and unyielding. She had done too much for him, and he was just merely a lowly Grado soldier who had defected from his own army because of his own selfishness. She was the princess of Frelia, regal, selfless, beautiful, innocent and the epitome of a woman who should find a good husband to love her and settle down happily in her fairytale ending.

He had minced no words; using his harshest and gruffest tone, he had told her all that he thought and told her off, ordering her to leave her alone and never look him up again for their sakes.

But she had only stood quietly before him, eyes shining with infectious radiance and a soft compassion, as well as a shy emotion he had never observed before in anyone else but her. Before he could pull away, she clasped his hands in hers. His hands! Those hands had had been stained by the blood of that backstabbing Valter and dirtied by the killings of numerous innocents, were clasped in her hands, those petite little white and slender hands that resembled the waxen petals of the delicate midnight white lilies! He could hardly bear it as he stood there. It had felt like such a sacrilege to profane her pristine hands with his filthy touch.

Disgusted with himself and overcome with shame and remorse, he attempted to take his hands away, but was stopped by her quiet pleading. Her voice forced him to look at her, and his hard brown eyes met her soft gaze. Her eyes were blue and large underneath her lashes, like two large precious sapphires beneath a dainty canopy, and they had a balmy effect.

She had ensured he was looking straight at her, before she tiptoed.

"A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet," she had quoted into his ear.

Shakespeare. He staggered. Rough and uncultured as he may have been, he had still heard about the most famous of plays and classics, and Glen had once taken him to appreciate the poetry. Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare, Act Two. Did she mean that she didn't mind his history and all the baggage that came with him? Perhaps she was willing…

No, he had told himself firmly. He could not take advantage of a young girl's rush of passionate emotions for his own gains. For her sake, he could not allow her to stay near to him anymore, or it would merely cause more pain and grief to the both of them.

He was already a lost cause, a victim from the war.

She, on the other hand, had her entire life before her. The path of a princess of Frelia was a glorious, radiant and shimmering one. The world lay at her feet for her choice. If she went with him, she would regret it in the future.

With those thoughts pummeling his mind furiously, he had spun on his heels and leapt atop his wyvern. With a roar, he soared into the air, disregarding the fervent but dejected cries of the Princess of Frelia below on the ground.

It was for the best, he had told himself over and over again. It was for the best.

And after mechanical repetition month after month, week after week, day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute and even second after second. He finally convinced himself.

Yes, he nodded solemnly. It was for the best.

* * *

"General Cormag!" The harried cry roused alarm in him. "General Cormag! Bandits! A troop of them! They have armed themselves and are attacking the Southern village."

He clenched his fists in glacial fury. Those bandits were the product of the cacophony of the Sacred Stones War. Without family, jobs, land and any means to feed themselves, they banded together into large menacing entourages and pillaged their way across the landscape. It was shameful; able-bodied young men waving their weapons and using their strength not at their enemies, but at innocent civilians so as to rob an innocent babe and a weak young mother of their last meal.

Shameful, it certainly was. Despciable.

"Raise the alert," he commanded sternly. "Ask all fit and healthy young men in the village to defend their homes. Instruct all villagers to stay indoors and lock all doors until further directions. We need to protect the village."

That village was the fifth of a series of rebuilding projects he had overseen since his promotion to a general of the Grado Empire by the newly-established regent General Duessel. He had intended for them to be paragons for other projects, and thus had placed special attention into the rebuilding works. Now completed, it housed three hundred families, and was completely self-sufficient with its own irrigation system, fertile fields, transport networks leading to the capital and the ports, as well as schools for education and a town square for peddlers to promote their wares and friends to congregate. The people were prosperous once more, thanks to everyone's relentless efforts, and he was not going to see that being destroyed all because of giant lumbering brutes who were victims of sloth and lived by illicit means.

"Understood, General." The young soldier, barely out of training, saluted staidly and leapt atop his wyvern to deliver the instructions.

The cool breeze rustled his yellow hair, made coarse by his lack of care. He needed to go soon, to lead the defense and put a firm stop to those hooligans' banditry days. He put three fingers to his lips and whistled. One finger would create a high pitch, and it was understood to mean danger. Two fingers would cause a moderate pitch, and it was a form of praise. The whistle created with tree fingers was understood to be the summoning.

From the depth of the forest, there was a hoarse answering cry, sending birds of various plumages into the air in a flurry of blurred wings. He turned around as dust and sand flew towards him as a result of the gusts generated by mighty flaps of wings. Blood dripped from the muzzle of the scaly head as the teeth snapped and tossed the small deer dangling from its mouth into the sky. The deer disappeared into the open jaws in the blink of an eye.

He laughed. "Gone hunting, haven't you?"

The wyvern snorted and leant its head forward, allowing him to pet its neck. Its sibilant tail curled and uncurled rapidly as deep gurgling sounds rose from the depth of its throat in a loud purr.

"We've got to take care of some bad guys, big boy," Cormag said, leaping onto the wyvern's back and sitting stably on the curve along its back. "Ready, let's go!"

With a shrill cry, the wyvern spread its wings and leapt off the cliff, soaring into the air. He held onto tightly with his hands around the wyvern's protruding shoulder blades as though they were two handholds and gently nudged the wyvern's right flank, maneuvering the wyvern towards that direction.

In the gradually fading light, he could make out the two rows of Grado soldiers surrounding the exterior of the village, securely every possible entrance. From a distance, a rowdy black mass marched towards the defending Grado troops, kicking up storms of yellow dust as they advanced.

"Down!" He commanded, diving to the ground. His wyvern landed with a snort, its long tail curving as it snapped its teeth at the bandits. He held up a hand. "Stop your advance!"

The troop of bandits slowed and stopped several hundred metres away from him. He noticed with disgust that they were laden gaudily with fine cloths and jewels, possibly loot from their latest pillages. They stood eyeing one another warily, snarling and sneering.

"Who are you to stop us?" One of the bandits, a large tall man astride a majestic brown stallion, rode forward and shouted. The stallion reared and landed onto the ground with a loud thump, raising a cloud of dust beneath its feet.

"I am General Cormag, of the Imperial Grado Army," he replied. "Lay down your arms and leave in peace. Surrender your ways of living, and you shall be spared. If not, we will have to take you into custody for your unlawful doings."

The bandits guffawed rowdily, their coarse laughter scaring the horses. The wyverns shifted their stances uneasily, rolling their sharp eyes.

"There is no such thing as Grado anymore!" The chief bandit retorted. "We shall do as we like, and who are you to stop us, you scrawny little brat? General or not, no one will stop us!" He raised his silver axe. "Comrades, attack!"

With a fierce battle cry, the mass of bandits charged forward towards him and his army.

His wyvern flew into the air as the chief bandit's silver axe hacked through where they had been standing just a split second ago. He shifted his silver lance to his right hand and clamped his legs around his wyvern's flank to keep his equilibrium in mid-air without the use of hands.

With a sharp nudge to his wyvern's scaly side, he dived with a battle cry of his own, silver lance sharp, gleaming and glinting, straight into the battle fray. His first thrust pierced the unprotected shoulder of a sniper, and he followed up with a second thrust to the sniper's throat as the arrow sped past his ear.

Doing an acrobatic turn in mid-air, he dived down again. A sharp metallic sound and a numb feeling in his forehand alerted him that his attack had been defected. Gritting his teeth, he withdrew his lance and speared once again, exploiting a loophole in the defender's offense. A well-aimed thrust to the general's relatively unprotected neck sent a spurt of blood squirting into the air and a hoarse cry as the general crumbled to the ground.

He often compared his style of attacking to that of an eagle owl. Eagle owls swooped down at high speeds to remove their prey from the ground and kill them with the impact of their talons; he killed his opponents in battle using mainly offensive strikes from the air, driving his lance at his unsuspecting enemies' weaknesses.

He took out another paladin with a fierce and hard pierce that shattered the bandit's silver armour. In a distance, a sage muttered an incantation as she looked offensively at him and his wyvern.

Quickly, he spurred his wyvern to fly, throwing his javelin back down to Earth. The sage dodged, but she wasn't fast enough, and the javelin's tip stabbed into her hand, making her cry out in pain. One thing was for sure, she wasn't going to cast another offensive spell anytime soon.

Beneath him, his wyvern bucked. Crying, it spun around wildly three times in the air but descending madly towards the ground at an astonishing speed. If he had not been holding onto his wyvern with one hand, he would surely have been flung from its back by the sheer force and speed of the plummet.

"Hey! What are you doing?" He shouted, kicking unsuccessful against the scaly flanks in a bid to make it stop its crazed decline in altitude.

He held on helplessly, hurling through the air like a rag doll as his wyvern flew lower and lower. With a cry that resembled a cross between a snarl and a scream, the wyvern spread its gigantic wings, providing the lift to halt its fall. It skimmed the surface of the ground, talons on feet gleaming.

It was heading straight for a sniper with his bow outstretched pointing at some target in the air that wasn't him.

His entire body jerked as his steed slammed into the sniper, his talons ripping through everything in its path, leather, flesh and all.

All that was left of the sniper was a bloodied mangled unrecognizable heap with a badly crushed silver bow on top.

He frowned. It was unusual for his wyvern to disregard his orders and venture for a killing spree of its own, and when it did so it usually had its own reasons that were fully justified to substantiate its disregard for his instructions. He looked up.

It was a pegasus with a rider, blue-haired, pale-skinned. There was no mistaking the two thin braids and the long thick ponytail that flew in the wind.

Tana.

His heart stopped, as did his hand, but that was until the chief bandit charged towards him with a silver axe raised above his head. Just in the nick of time, his wyvern soared again so that the silver axe swiped thin air. The paladin gnashed his teeth as he steadied himself to deliver another blow, this time at the unsuspecting falconknight who had just landed and finished off another wayward hero.

"Tana!" He roared in a fury. How dare that filthy bandit attack Tana? His wyvern needed no spurring, as though it sensed is intentions, it sped for the paladin, screeching.

He steadied his lance for a sharp drive-through that would hopefully pierce through the paladin's armour and body.

He plunged his lance into the bandit's body with all the strength he possessed.

The bandit's thick armour shattered on the impact, but so did the tip of his lance, leaving him with nothing more than the splintered silver rod. But silver lance, broken or not, was still a weapon, and looking directly into the outraged but fearful eyes of the bandit chief, he plunged the splintered end of his lance right through the now unprotected chest of the bandit.

The body went rigid as the remnants of his lance passed easily through flesh, breaking the ribcage and passing out from the other side. He had probably punctured a lung, and stabbed a heart, not that he cared.

War was brutal, and that bandit had chosen his own path.

Bubbles of bloody foam formed at the bandit's mouth, as he slowly fell from his horse, his body hitting the ground heavily. His eyes were wide-open with horror and hatred, and his fists were still clenched in rage. Even in death, he was still a bandit, a servant of greed and sloth and other sinful evils.

He knew the falconknight was staring at him, and he purposely evaded his gaze. Many of the bandits were trying to run away to evade capture, seeing as their leader had fallen, and he busied himself with giving instructions. "Capture all those alive and escort them to the village dungeons! They need to be transported to the capital tomorrow for trial. Everyone else, clean up the fallen bodies and bury them. Armour, weapons and all valuable items are to be kept in the village treasury until further instructions!"

"Cormag," she ventured tentatively.

He continued barking directions. "Inform the villagers that it is now safe to venture and inquire the well-being of all villagers!"

"Cormag," she tried again.

"I want all traces of this blood to be gone by tomorrow morning, is that clear?" He still handed out instructions.

"Cormag!"

He startled. She was angry.

Sighing, he turned around to face her. For three years he had managed to run, but now, it was time to face his fears again and look into those blue eyes that had made him toss and turn in his tent during the Sacred Stones War.

"Princess Tana."

* * *

She had been the one who suggested that they take a drink in the inn she was staying in for the next two weeks. So here he was, with a mug of the finest Grado vodka before him, sitting in a booth of the inn, trying not to even have any eye contact with the young woman who had asked him out for a drink.

A steaming mug of hot chocolate, with added milk, cream and a teaspoonful of cocoa, was her choice of beverage, just like in the days on the Sacred Stones War. She had blossomed from a young innocent girl into a blushing young lady, but her naivety, kindness and infectious happiness did not alter in any way with the passing time.

She had been special, amongst all the women he had met. It wasn't that she was royalty (there were plenty of other royalty he had met) or that she was exceptionally pretty (those honours would have to be laurelled to other fairer maidens like Princess L'Arachel or the falonknight Syrene).

But she was the first woman who made him blush.

_They walked down alongside the river. _

_Tana was taking a stroll because she wanted someone to listen to her vent about how close Eirika was to her brother and how Innes was so reserved and such. Cormag was taking a stroll because he was the first person Tana saw, and Tana was dragging him along with surprising strength and he could hardly refuse the whims of the Princess of Frelia._

"_Cormag?" She stopped abruptly, causing him to nearly bump into her. She glared suspiciously at him. "Were you listening to me?"_

"_Huh?" He had been engrossed in trying to figure out whether Prince Ephraim was really innocent and General Duessel had been telling the truth. "Emm…yeah! Of course!" He didn't exactly sound very convincing, and even he himself felt a little guilty at his own lack of attention._

_He believed she would be cross at him, but instead a grin crept onto her face. "You know, you're the first person whom actually tolerates my whining without complaint. Even Ephraim can't do that." There was a contemplative look on her face as she scrutinized him closely. "Hmm…"_

_He took a step back warily. "Yes, your highness?" _

_She broke into a wide grin and turned around, skipping merrily. After a few steps, she stopped abruptly and sprang onto a large piece of rock. "You know," she cocked her head. "I think I like you."_

_He was dumbstruck. He knew perfectly well that she had meant 'like' as in friendship, but he could not help the foreign warm fuzzy feeling that engulfed him after she proclaimed her liking for him. He swallowed, uncertain of what to reply. Women in general did not 'like' him. They stayed far away from him, partly because of his intimidating scowl that had become almost a permanent fixture on his face after his brother's death, and partly because of the vicious scar that ran from his left cheek to his ear, a keepsake from his days as a common soldier._

_She flounced up to him again, peering concernedly into his face. "Are you okay?" She asked curiously. Before he could stop her, she had placed her hands on his cheeks. "You're blushing!" She exclaimed._

_Her palm was soft and silky against his coarse skin, and he felt his heart beat faster as he stared into her dark blue eyes. _

_He swallowed._

_She must have understood his uncomfortable situation, for she quickly removed her hands and stepped back, the guileless smile adorning her face once more. "I can't believe you blushed because someone praised you," she quipped. "You're so cute."_

_He couldn't believe it either. He, a fearsome Grado warrior, a wyvern lord that terrorized the sky and struck fear into the hearts of his enemies with a fierce scowl and his skill with a silver lance, blushed because the Princess of Frelia complimented him._

_It had better not get out, otherwise he would surely lose his reputation._

"So…" She attempted a conversation. "How are you doing?"

He took a swig of the Grado ale. It was bitter as usual, and slightly acrid, the result of over-fermentation, but it was better than all those cheap imitations that were flooding the market. "Fine. I'm rebuilding the villages."

"Hmm…" she nodded. "That's what everyone has been busy with too. A lot of Magvel was destroyed in the war. Most of the countries sustained large amounts of damage to infrastructure, even Carcino."

"And you?" He shot her a swift glance. She looked well, although a little thinner than before. "How have you been doing?"

"Innes is fine," she smiled. There was a little more seriousness in her actions now, some of the levity having been corroded over time. "He really loves me a lot, but now that he has Frelia to take care of, a wife to keep him company and two toddlers demanding his attention, he rarely has much time for me."

"I see," he nodded. He could understand. The first time Glen got himself a girlfriend, he had almost felt ignored by his brother, and it wasn't a pleasant feeling. "So you came over to visit me to whine?"

She laughed. The sound of her laughter was like tinkling silver bells, melodic and euphonic. "I think you are quite busy as well, so you would not really like me to whine around anymore."

He pondered for a moment. "Actually, I wouldn't mind. Planning city development and rebuilding villages can be boring sometimes. And I am sorry that you were nearly hurt today; the bandits, I can assure you, are a rare occurrence in this area."

"I can take care of myself, Cormag," she huffed, folding her arms. "I was more worried about you. Did you see that sage? She was aiming for your head, Cormag! She might have killed you!"

He took another swig. "I can take care of myself too, your highness, and I am a soldier. My life is dispensable, while you are royalty."

"Don't say that!" She cringed. "Life is precious! You promised me to treasure your like just as much as anybody else."

"As you wish, your highness," he nodded, just for the sake of placating her.

She took a little sip of her hot chocolate. "So…what do you intend to do now that you have rebuilt the villages?"

He pursed his lips, considering his options. "To be fair, I would like to go back to woodworking, but that obviously is not wise, since my skills have indubitably atrophied. Perhaps…I should like to travel."

"Travel?" She sounded disappointed.

"Were you expecting a spectacular response, your highness?" He smiled wryly.

She shook her head slowly. "Travelling is good. But…I was just wondering…" She hesitated. "Do you remember…the offer I made to you before we parted?"

She had asked him to become a knight of Frelia and serve the royal family, and he had rejected her offer. But of course he remembered, he had always remembered every single word she had said to him, be it whining, complaining, expressing her happiness or requesting. "I do, your highness."

She chewed her lip. "Well…I was rather hoping that you could accept my offer and come with me to Frelia…" She nodded. "I did tell you once…I'll track you down no matter where you are, and I will persist until you acquiesce."

He sighed. Three years…he had tried to forget about her, and he had always been on the move within Grado, hoping that she would not find him and forget about him. She always deserved someone better, that was what he felt. Someone better than a traitor, a common soldier and a woodworker. The least she deserved was a dashing prince, those that appeared in fantasy stories to sweep the female characters off their feet with the flagrant displays of chivalry and gallantry.

"You're pretty strong willed for a princess," he said finally.

She flashed him a toothy grin. "That's what you said last time." She downed the last of the hot chocolate. "So…will you reconsider my offer?"

He frowned. "I suspect that your work offer is merely a lure for me to return with you to Frelia, Princess. Does your work offer only include work? If it does, I may consider."

She flushed and twiddled her thumbs. "I was hoping…" She trailed off.

She still had not given up on him yet. It was bad, very bad. "Your highness, I don't understand," he groaned. "You're an eligible young maiden from the royal family of Frelia. You deserve someone much better than me. At least the man must be from a noble family of some sorts. I am but a commoner, a rough soldier who knows nothing about social etiquette. I was nearly possessed by the devil in my thirst for revenge, and I have killed many an innocent man."

"But I don't care!" She replied passionately. "Cormag, I never cared about what status you are, how well-educated you are or how rich your family is. Those are not important."

"But you cannot be with someone like me!" He responded agitatedly. "I was a street rat before I joined the army. At one point in time I was a common criminal. Then I became a lowly soldier, and worked my way up, but even then I was never at the top. Now that I intend to go travelling, I will relinquish everything that I have now. I have no coin, no house, nothing! I can't make you happy, Princess." He slammed the beer mug down on the tabletop, just to prove his own crudeness.

She jumped slightly as the beer mug crashed against the wood, but held her composure. Looking down at her hands, she stared glumly at her own hands. "A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet, I told you that last time. I don't care if you are a prince or a pauper," she said quietly. "If even you cannot make me happy, Cormag, no man ever will."

He swallowed. His hands trembled as his fingers curled around the handle of the mug. The quote, the two of them, everything was so déjà vu that he had a hard time believing that this wasn't one of his many dreams ever since he left her. He downed all the cold beer left in the mug just to try and shock himself, so that he would possibly wake and escape from this.

Nothing changed.

He cursed. He had no right, _no right at all_, to deprive her of the happiness that she should seek. "You'll regret this someday, Princess, you'll regret this. I cannot, I-"

A pair of soft pliant lips against his cut him off, and he felt himself yielding as he tasted the remnants of the hot chocolate, sweet and creamy.

He groaned as he pulled away. "Your highness…this is blackmail."

She bit her lip and fluttered her eyelashes innocently. "Blackmail, Cormag? What blackmail?"

To him, she had always been the epitome of innocence and naïveté, but as she smiled at him, he could not help himself but feel the strength of his attraction towards her.

That kiss had been lethal. It opened the floodgates that he had been desperately guarding, chaining and using all methods to close for the past three years. Now that he had been given a taste, he had become an instant addict, craving and hungering for more. He was doomed to never escape from her.

"So?" She asked again, slipping back into her seat as though nothing had happened. "Will you reconsider my offer?" She peered at him, hope shining in her eyes. "I always knew you were the one, ever since that day, after you slew Valter. You looked so lost, so helpless…I couldn't help myself but go up to you. I thought I was doing it for a friend, but when I realized that I couldn't allow myself to let go of your hands…I knew." She gave him a wistful smile as her legs dangled from the tall chair, kicking at the rungs. "It was the most beautiful day of my life, Cormag. I was so happy, just helping to clean the blood and sweat from your hands and face. Just standing beside you to comfort you, made me happier than anything in the world."

He was torn. His own feelings towards her were strong, but…there were so many sacrifices that would be demanded of her. Surely along the way, one of them would break. It would never work out.

"You would be downgrading your status, Princess," he tried to be firm, but his voice faltered. "You won't be a princess anymore. You will be the wife of a traveler, a nondescript soldier in the army, maybe even a woodworker's wife…"

She cocked her head. "As I said, a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet. I don't care what I will become in future, or what others will view me," She covered his hand with hers. "So long as you're with me, I think I can overcome just about anything."

"Princess…" He hesitated.

"Call me Tana."

"…" He swallowed. He had never called her by her name only. It was always 'Princess' or 'your highness', out of respect for their difference in stations and status. "Tana."

She gave him another one of her smiles, as radiant as the sun, as warm as a thick downy blanket and as sweet as virgin honey. It…lit up his heart…that she really was happy just to be with him. Maybe they could try. Maybe it could work out somehow. Maybe, with a little sacrifice on both their parts, they could have a nice fairytale ending of their own after all.

He clasped her hands decisively, looking into her eyes with the utmost seriousness. If she wanted it to be that way, she needed to understand the implications. "You understand that I am a rough man, Tana? When I take something, I will not easily relinquish it from my possession? When I commit myself to something, I will never deviate until I achieve what I had set out to achieve? When I come with you to Frelia, there will be no more regrets, no more qualms, no more misgivings?"

Her gaze wavered, and his heart sank. He always knew that this would happen. It may have seemed romantic to fall in love with a young soldier, but when all the other burdens follow, not many can actually weather it.

Instead of what he had expected, a shake of her head or a scornful gaze, she blinked at him. "In that case…" she hesitated. "Can we leave now?" She laughed at the astounded look on his face. "I have no regrets, Cormag, none at all. I never had any in the first place. I had been ready to brave Father and Innes about my decision ever since that day you slew Valter, but you must be there with me when we tell them."

"I'm sure I'll survive," he replied dryly. Her father was an accomplished sage and her brother Innes was a proficient sniper. What were the chances of him, a wyvern lord, surviving the betrothal alive?

"Don't be silly," she laughed. "They may seem rather elitist at first, but really, deep down, they are actually still very reasonable and nice people. They won't discriminate against you. Father's favourite play is Romeo and Juliet." She winked cheekily. "He'll understand. He'll have to."

He couldn't help but crack a smile. It seemed as though, just perhaps, there may be a future for the two of them after all. "A knight by any other name would be just as eligible…"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**This is, hopefully, the beginning of a series, since after Shackles, I feel reluctant to write anymore long chaptered stories, since school is starting and I'll probably be very busy so it's the time of one-shots again. As luck would have it, I am obsessed currently with quotes, especially quotes by my favourite characters, and by Shakespeare. And thus, having been very much inspired, I could could perhaps do a series of quotes for various pairings and non-pairing situations.**

**This first one is actually inspired by two fellow writers, SunLord89 and Pline, whom have requested for me to write a TanaCormag fic in their reviews in To risk or not to risk (which is actually a modification of Hamlet's epic To be or not to be, that is the question ^^) Yeah, hopefully they will like this, since this is my first attempt at TanaCormag and I am not very sure if they are in character (but cramming their support convos and bios helped). Am starting to like this pairing as well...**

**I will take requests, but PM me to not spoil the surprise for others *grins* Umm...just state the pairing or support or people you would like, the genre you would like it to be in (specify tragedy or happy ending) and the quote, and the rest will be up to me to decide. Yeah, anything's fine. But only characters from the GBA games, haven't had the luxury of a Nintendo Wii yet *wails* Haha, if you want something like crack even, SURE! XD**

**Love ~ snowylavendermist**


	2. Death Is Just Another Path

**Death is Just Another Path**

**__**

Fire Emblem 6

Percival/Cecilia

Tragedy/Angst/Supernatural

For darkblaziken

* * *

_Pippin: I didn't think it would end this way._  
_Gandalf: End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path... One that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass... And then you see it._  
_Pippin: What? Gandalf?... See what?_  
_Gandalf: White shores... and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise._  
_Pippin: [smiling] Well, that isn't so bad._  
_Gandalf: [softly] No... No it isn't._

* * *

Silence.

From her throne at the horizon, the Lady of the Night watched in satisfaction as all living thing succumbed to her power and took to their bed. It was another dark night, with no stars or moon to light the way for terrified travellers in the woods or the lone rabbit making its way back to its warren. It was a night when predators roamed free, and aided by the invisibility conferred upon them by the darkness, stalked their preys with sharp talons and powerful paws.

It was one of those nights when he had to again review their strategy even though everyone else was already sound asleep. Two soldiers, namely Alan and Lance, their pair of ever-reliable social knights, had been wounded in their latest skirmish with a troop of bandits. They had mistaken it to be a decisive and easy victory, until Lance rode back astride his horse with an unconscious Alan.

If they wanted to minimise losses and maximise their progress, which he simplified into progress margin, they would need to deliberate a more prudent strategy against those Bernese knaves.

Technically, Elphin, or rather Prince Mildain, was the rightful tactician of the army, just as he was the right heir to the throne. However, Elphin had not appeared anything close to worrying about the tentative chaos that would most likely erupt tomorrow once they infiltrated into Sacae. Considering that the Djute clan had merged with Bern and were now their enemies, chances were that they would have to face an army of Sacaen warriors armed to the teeth once they stepped foot on Sacaen ground.

Thus, here he was, sitting on a small wooden stool in the dead of the night in a back-breaking position and a fixated frown on his face. If his liege needed his beauty sleep because of his fragile health and thus sacrificed on preparatory work, he, as the Knight General of Etruria, could not shirk his duties and must instead stand up to shoulder the responsibilities.

The crimson flame of the candle flickered as a gentle breeze blew in through the thin flimsy gauze that covered the window flaps of the tent. Round beads of hot red wax rolled down the sides of the tall candles, solidifying in a puddle at the base of the candle holder. The yellowed crinkly parchment that were used to draw the maps crackled as a drop of hot wax spilled from the candle holder and dripped onto the map, covering a strategic spot that he had studying.

Cursing under his breath (in the well-bred manner of true blue Etrurian aristocrats), he frowned as he scrapped the wax off with his fingernails and blew the debris away from the map.

"Still not asleep, Percival?"

He lifted his head from where he had been squinting at the topology of the particular open space, just in time to see his teal-haired comrade lifting the flap of the tent and striding in with two steaming mugs in one hand and a piled plate in another. His sharp olfactory senses detected the faint aroma of cookies and coffee.

"I passed by and saw the candle was still burning," Cecilia explained, setting down the plate of cookies and mugs on the table. "I thought you may have been hungry while engrossed in your strategic planning. Perhaps I could share my late-night supper with you?"

His impassive face relaxed into a small tired smile. "I would truly appreciate the distractions, however untimely they are," he admitted grudgingly. "Any longer and my abdomen will vocally protest, or fatigue would shut down the areas of my brain supporting my consciousness." He sipped the coffee and sighed. "Coffee _and_ double chocolate cookies, Cecilia?" He commented almost ruefully as he picked up the innocent-looking cookie with a steady hand. "If Sir Douglas should hear of this…it is not wise for us to indulge in small delicacies in the midst of war, Cecilia, no matter how tempting they may be."

She smiled, taking a bite of the cookie she was holding daintily. "Yet Sir Douglas still keep a small stock of them for those who exhaust themselves for the sake of everyone else selflessly. The delicacies are well-earned in your case, Percival."

Seemingly soothed, he took a large bite out of his cookie. "In that case, Cecilia, I shall follow your advice and spoil myself with a generous snack." He chewed contemplatively, and swallowed. "I have to say, but these cookies are superb, much better than those that even Lowen produces. I have not tasted them before…yet…" He frowned and scrutinised the cookie in his hand as though he wished to dissect it to examine it in detail. "Whose handiwork are these?"

Cecilia blushed and chuckled. "Well Percival, I suppose it is understandable. You…couldn't have known that I have a knack for baking, could you?"

"You?" He looked from the cookie, to her, then back to the cookie. "Cecilia, you astound me at times. But I do confess, these cookies are the best I have eaten in quite a while. No wonder Sir Douglas keeps a stock of them. It would most certainly wash away the lingering aftertaste of Lalum's cooking."

"Percival!" Cecilia chided gently.

"I apologise," he frowned. "It's just that after that particular experience…I do not wish a repeat of it anytime soon. Really…Lalum's cooking, not harbouring any ill feelings towards her, is abnormally abhorrent. I have no other words for it. If she may pardon me, I speak nothing but the truth, blunt and harsh as I may be."

Cecilia permitted herself a small laugh. "Disgraceful, Percival," she teased. "The Knight General of Etruria unable to stomach the homemade cooking of a young girl, if this spreads I fear for your reputation as a fearsome warrior."

He chuckled as finished the last of his cookie. "I can assure you that once you taste her cooking, you will place your reputation as an afterthought. As for Sir Douglas' bizarre fondness for Lalum's cooking, I would say that his praise originates from his heart and not from his taste buds or stomach." He shook his head lightly. "I digress. There is much to be planned for tomorrow."

Cecilia pulled her chair next to his. "Is that Sacaen map, Percival? Those gers are certainly a trademark feature."

He didn't reply. Instead, using a finger, he traced the path Prince Mildain had intended for them to take. "Look at this place, Cecilia, and tell me what do you think."

She leaned forward with a curious arch of her eyebrow. "The entire area, Percival?"

He nodded, rubbing his temples. "Yes, the entirety of it. If we could split it into portions, I suspect it would be a much simpler job for all of us. Unfortunately, the world does not resolve around what the Knight Generals of Etruria wishes."

"Hmm…" Cecilia lifted her head from where she had been studying the landscape. "Did you just tell a joke, Percival?"

It was his turn to lift an eyebrow in amusement. "Really, Cecilia, I may be stoic and taciturn, but surely I am entitled to making jokes?"

She flushed and turned her attention quickly back to the map. "Oh, of course. I didn't mean that." Hoping to detract from the subject, she pointed at the largest ger on the painted map. "This place will the place of primary interest, and I expect it to be the most heavily guarded, while these…" She pointed at the circle of smaller gers around the largest ger like a fairy ring. "They will no doubt be utilising these areas to their largest advantage. It will not be easy to get past." She shifted her focus to the North-Western portion of the map. "There is an armoury and a vendor here. We could ask Sir Marcus or Sir Zealot to replenish our depleting supplies while we fight, but they will try to catch us unawares, so…we will need to dispatch troops to guard our caravan."

Percival nodded. "I fully agree with you. And I do not predict it will be an easy fight."

"Because the Saceans are well trained in their skills, and they have the advantage of terrain on their sides. They are known for their skills with a bow and swords," Cecilia added. "We could hardly expect to come out of this with zero casualties. It would be…impossible. It would be a loss if anyone of our troop perished."

Percival scrutinised her expression closely. "Cecilia?" He questioned. "Are you afraid?"

She turned to him startled, like a rabbit that had been alarmed by the huntsmen's horns and dogs. "Afraid?"

"Yes, afraid," Percival affirmed. "Of death, of dying, of falling in battle. Tell me Cecilia, ever since this war started, have you been frightened?"

A sliver of fear passed through her eyes as she appeared as though she was recoiling from an unpleasant memory, then it disappeared in a flash, almost as fast as it made its appearance. She sighed heavily. "Once. As the Mage General of Etruria, I understood the risks involved a long long time ago, and I always prepared myself. But once, I was frightened."

He understood in a flash, his hands curling into tightly balled fists. It was all because of him that she had landed in that predicament. All because of his own blatant foolishness and blind loyalty…she had landed in the hands of twisted evil men.

"It wasn't your fault, Percival, you were doing what you believed to be right, and you didn't understand the situation fully. No one blames you for what you did," she said gently, easing some of the pain, regret and anger out of his heart. "I did…feel fear…when I confronted Zephiel." She admitted. "He possessed tremendous power, more than I could ever imagine, and he defeated me easily despite my skills. Narshen…was an unpleasant man, and he…made some inappropriate advances."

His hands balled into tight fists once again. If Narshen were not dead, he would have rushed over to wherever that bastard was and given him a solid punch in the jaw for whatever he did.

Cecilia placed a comforting hand on his. "He…didn't do anything. They threw me in a cell after I was wounded and unconscious. There…I had my first taste…of what it was like to feel death…but the girl, she healed me…" She shook her head. "It was my first brush with death…and it didn't feel good." She straightened her stiff back and set down the empty mug gently. "But Death is just another path... One that we all must take, is it not? The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, the scheming, the bloodshed, the revenge and the hatred vaporises, and all turns to silver glass... And then you see it."

He listened entranced. "What?" His whisper was low and soft in anticipation. "Cecilia? See what?"

"When I closed my eyes, I saw white shores... and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise," she smiled pensively. "It was like watching the dawn at the coasts of Etruria, where you can see the Western Isles and all that lay beyond in the times of peace and prosperity. It was…beautiful…"

He gave a small tentative smile of his own. "Well, that isn't so bad…I imagined much worse."

"No…" she smiled softly. "No it isn't so…especially when you know that your sacrifice is going somewhere to save your country. The patriotism and good intentions somehow cast an air of peace and security around you…even when you lie waiting to meet your death…Why are we talking about this anyway? Our main aim tomorrow is to have a decisive victory without letting anyone suffer a grievous injury."

He was jolted from his deep thoughts. "Ah yes…" Swiftly, he rolled up the top map and exposed the one below. Pencil marks crisscrossed over the parchment of the map, and cancellations and scribbles lay in abundance, especially at strategic locations. "What do you think of this arrangement, Cecilia?"

She leant forward and placed her hand on the sides of the map, squinting that the small script marking the various units. "I agree with your positions, Percival. Having Shin and Sue lead our ranks would prove advantageous, since they are the most experienced and knowledgeable of our troop. Clarine and Rutger make a very efficient, not to mention handsome team. They will be able to hold their positions without trouble. Having Alan and Lance work together behind Wendy and Oujay would give us a good advantage of numbers on this side, although I think Ellen should be sent here as well. They may need her healing abilities. Having the magic units far behind our line of infantry and cavalry would enable us to heal anyone in distress and attack the enemies without damaging our own vulnerable troops. Yes, I think this is all very adequate." She turned and gave him a radiant smile. "As always, Percival, your strategies are impeccable"

He bowed his head humbly. "Not quite. I understand that…Elphin is much more skilled than I am, and certainly exceedingly accomplished. However, seeing as he was fatigued, I decided to take over his duties for once and put my miserly skills to the test. From your statement, I conclude that I have passed?"

"Passed with flying colours, in fact," she acknowledged. "Not many of our Etrurian Generals can fight well and strategise well. You are a true gem of Etruria, Percival, one of the best warriors we have."

Colouring, he shook his head. "You are too, Cecilia. You are an exemplary maiden of Etruria."

She laughed softly. "I am unworthy of such high praise. Myself, I feel that I am dispensable. There are so many other capable Etrurians, like Clarine, but only so few can wield a sword as well as you, Percival."

"Cecilia…you truly flatter me," he bowed his head slightly in thanks. "I suppose as the generals of Etruria leading the battle against an Etrurian traitor it is our duty to ride at the frontlines? It is not early, and a good night's rest would certainly work miracles. If there isn't anything else…"

"Good night, Percival," she said amicably, taking the empty plate and two empty mugs. "I hope I had not interrupted."

He shook his head. "I enjoyed supper immensely, Cecilia. There was not the slightest interruption in your midnight snack…" He appeared hesitant. "Do you…"

She turned back to face him, the curiosity glowing in her eyes. "Do I…"

Under the harsh glare of the candlelight and the ancient stench of the yellowed parchment, he faltered. A battlefield was no place, no place at all to even consider such thoughts. Yet, he was diverting precious attention and energy from his duties and responsibilities to entertain such frivolous and pointless matters. No, he told himself resolutely as he stared at the blood-red crosses on the map that marked out everyone's positions in battle. He, as the Knight General of Etruria, would be not be distracted by pointless emotions. Those could wait. Rescuing and securing Etruria's stability was his utmost priority.

"Nothing, Cecilia," he said finally. "I heard that Merlinus has procured a new stock of anima tomes and staves that may be beneficial to you. Take a look at them before setting off tomorrow."

"Oh," she said in a small voice. Her smile was still frozen in place, and through the weak light of the candle he could see a tinge of sadness, wistfulness and resignation in her eyes, as though she had been expecting something more from him that he could not give. "Good night."

"Good night."

* * *

The Sacaens put up a fierce front. Their arrows flew thick and quick, blocking out the sun as the flurry of arrows hit their marks. The swordsmen weaved agilely through their ranks, evading blows with the speed of an adroit monkey, before closing in to deliver a blow that was not fatal but enough to cut deeply into armour. The air was thick with cries of pain as people on both sides fell, clutching their wounds.

It was an ambush. They were flanked on all sides by Sacaen troops, and the reinforcements were pouring in steadily. The prospects of victory were slim, and everyone fought grimly as they tried their best to fend off the attackers that pressed them from all sides.

The larger units, those who worked slow but with crushing strength, fared the worst. They wore little protective armour, and their axes could scarcely come into contact with Sacaen skin as the Sacaens leaped and pranced before them, dancing nimbly as though they were taunting a bear at a carnival fair.

Those who wore armour, like him, were generally safe, for the Sacaens dealt swift but light blows, and their armour was sufficient to absorb most of the damage. Horses were an extra bonus, since the intelligent creatures shied from arrows and swords almost as quickly as the Sacaens. However, often a steel sword or an iron arrow may unwittingly hit their target, and the wound would sting, delaying his reactions and swings.

The magic units were fine. Their attacks worked well when they managed to hit their enemy targets, but about half of the time they didn't. They wore no armour, and were relatively weak in armed combat, and thus they chalked up large amounts of damage over time as well. The Sacaens, sensing this weakness, closed in upon the magic units like aggressive fire ants.

"Cecilia!" He shouted furiously as he sliced an arrow in midair. "Cecilia! Are you alright?" He cursed as he swung his silver sword heavily towards the annoying myrmidon dodging before his horse. The myrmidon ducked, but not quickly enough, and the sword slammed against the side of his head, knocking him out cold. Two companions quickly dropped in and dragged his lifeless body away, sending sharp glares of hostility.

He could hardly have cared less about the myrmidon and his friends. He needed to get to Cecilia and break the siege around her. His horse reared as he jerked the reins sharply to swerve, and its front hooves crashed down upon another young myrmidon with a sickening crunch that would have surely crushed what had been his ribcage. He dodged as an arrow whizzed past the top of his head, missing him by an inch. He could feel the rough feathers of the arrow scraping against his scalp as it sped past.

The next arrow grazed the skin on the back of his hand, and he stifled a cry in pain as the blood oozed from the wound. Grinding his teeth, he shoved his lance down the throat of a myrmidon who had been flitting around his horse, earning another scratch on his arm.

"Yaaaa!" A fierce battle cry that emanated behind him caused him to turn around. The daredevil of a myrmidon leapt atop his black stallion and waved the iron blade in his face dauntingly. By sheer instinct, he lifted his sword and brought it down against the myrmidon's, suppressing the young man's arm with one hand. With the other, he lifted his clenched fist and delivered a staggering blow to the myrmidon's stomach, hoping to bring him down.

His horse jerked underneath him, probably to evade another arrow that had flown its way.

With a hoarse cry and a heavy grunt, the myrmidon tumbled from horseback onto the floor, clutching his abdomen, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

"Cecilia!" He shouted again, fending off the Sacaens in his path.

She was casting another Elfire spell at a nomad when the slim sword that one of the myrmidon was carrying sliced the leg of her horse. Rearing in pain, her horse collapsed heavily on the ground, throwing her off as it sank down on its remaining three legs.

With a victorious cry, the Sacaens swarmed towards her. Without her horse, she was exceptionally vulnerable, with little means to defend herself except for her Elfire tome, which was on the verge of running out of magic.

Cursing, he kicked at his own horse's flanks, urging it to hurry for Cecilia and rescue her from the Sacaens that seized her vulnerable state and were swarming towards her like black ants.

It was not for nothing that she was the Mage General of Etruria, and her magical prowess were certainly something to be feared, but the Sacaens were fighting on their honour and lives, and thus they hardly cared for their own safety, only for the extermination of the enemies in their eyes.

"Cecilia!"

His sharp eye had spotted the lone nomad lingering in the back, camouflaged amongst the grass. The arrow twirled in the air before it sped across the Sacaen plains, past the Sacaens clambering around, past the long blades of grass, past the siege surrounding Cecilia, and buried itself in her right shoulder.

He roared in fury, and rushed forth atop his horse. He swung his silver sword in all directions, not caring where it struck and who it killed. "I'm coming Cecilia!"

There was a muffled answering cry from the pile of Sacaens who had seized the opportunity of her weakened and defenceless state.

His horse reared and trampled the first two Sacaens underneath its kicking hooves. Using his silver sword, he hacked at the Sacaens who were burying her alive. His other hand reached out and grabbed the back of the Sacaens' robes, and using all his strength, he flung them off as though they were rag dolls.

They may as well have been puppets and dolls in comparison to his fearsome charge.

He gritted his teeth in his wrath as he threw away corpse after corpse, body after body. He was going to be find her, and save her. He would not allow her to leave him. She was the Mage General of Etruria! That alone did not give her the right to die before the war was over and Etruria rebuilt.

She could not die. If she died, what would hold _him_ together?

"Cecilia!" With one last triumphant shout, he tossed the two remaining Sacaens from her.

He nearly recoiled in horror. The light pieces of armour around her body had been dented beyond recognition, hanging off her frame as though they were scrap metal pieces. He staff had been broken, stepped on, trampled and crushed, so that all that remained were wooden splinters and dull fragments of what had once been a magnificent enchanted gem. Her clothes and robes were torn and bloodied, with numerous bloodied holes were the blades and arrows had gone in and came out. Every single area of exposed skin was peppered with scratches and cuts, even on her face. It masked the once ethereal visage she possessed, replaced instead by a deathly pallor coloured only by the blood that oozed from her wounds.

"Cecilia?" He lifted her onto his horse, cradling her in his arms. "Cecilia?" He shook her with a wild expression on his face. She lay motionless in his arms, like a little doll. "Healers! Clarine! Ellen! Where are the healers?" His horse, as though it understood his words, neighed as it sped across the bloodied plains, sprinting to seek a healer. "Cecilia! Hang in there! We will get you to a healer!"

"Percival…" Her eyes fluttered open slowly. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Percival…don't…"

"Cecilia?" He unstopped a vulnerary. "Here." He attempted to make her drink the vulnerary, but most of it spilled from her lips. His hands were shaking violently, and he could not hold the bottle still.

"Percival…death…just…another…path…" She said difficultly, fighting for breath. "No…healer…"

"Cecilia! What are you talking about?" He urged. "Stay strong, Cecilia! We'll get you to a healer in no time, and you'll be as good as new. You're the Mage General of Etruria! Our country needs you! Elibe needs you! The people need you! We, the Generals need you! I-" He faltered.

He couldn't bring himself to say it, could he? Never before had he expressed so much emotion in a short span of several minutes. The usually reticent self he had long shed, replaced by the medley of emotions clouding his face.

It was war, and it was in the middle of the battlefield…

It was now or never.

"Cecilia, I-Hmm?" She gestured for him to bend lower, closer towards her. He complied. "I-"

Soft lips pressed against his. He could taste the coppery taste of blood that lingered in her mouth, no doubt from the numerous cuts that she had probably received on her lips. He ran his tongue along cracked lips, over the various lacerations that marred the perfect skin of her lips.

Her lips cooled against his, slowly but steadily.

"Cecilia?" He shook her gently, for fear of injuring her further, but she lay lifeless in his arms. "Cecilia! Cecilia! Wake up!" He urged the horse to the healers, and Ellen rushed to meet him, staff glowing in hand. "Cecilia!" He nearly tumbled from his horse in his hurry to dismount.

She couldn't be dead...she couldn't.

She just couldn't.

He had not even told her how much she meant to him and she was leaving him?

Impossible.

Fear gripped his heart as he watched as her chest stayed motionless even though the blue light seemed to envelop her. There was the no sign of breathing, of the usual rise and fall of her chest.

"Is she-" He pointed a shaky finger at Cecilia. He could not bring himself to say it.

Ellen nodded sadly, lifting her hands from where she had been measuring the pulse. "There is no pulse, Sir Percival."

"Cecilia!" He shouted, unsheathing his sword in one swift motion, slashing at the long grass of the Sacaen plains.

Those Sacaens, they killed Cecilia, and they would pay for it with their lives.

His eyes brimmed with unshed tears as he let out a hoarse cry, shouting for vengeance. He clenched his fists as he pummelled the ground, the accursed Sacaen ground that had provided for those _beasts_ who took away his Cecilia.

She was dead.

Dead.

His heart contracted painfully as he mounted his horse once again, brandishing his silver sword. The wind ruffled and messed his hair, but he could hardly care. Stampeding through the mass of Sacaens, he swiped his sword left and right, careless of how many he killed, how many he had maimed. The only thing he wanted was to avenge Cecilia's death, and in this case, it was certainly the more the merrier.

Smiling grimly, he wiped the blood from his face as he surveyed the ring of Sacaens who encircled him, pointing their swords at him. They looked perplexed at his wild behaviour, and at the same time fearful of his insane slaughter.

He lifted his sword till it was pointing to the heavens and laughed. So this was what it felt like to be on a bloodlust. His hand twitched painfully, wanting more blood to be shed, more slain to adorn the grass plains of Sacae. A hoarse laughter burst from his throat.

Was he mad? Probably.

So this was what it felt like to be insane.

"Cecilia!" He shouted towards the heavens, kicking his horse's flanks as he dashed towards the myrmidons and swordmasters blocking his place. More chopping and more slicing ensued, as he moved his sword arm so rapidly that it was a mere blur of silver and black. His armour was rant and damaged in places where they had cleaved it apart with their enemy arrows and swords, but he could hardly bother with such trivial injuries.

Another ring of myrmidons gone to meet their maker. He surveyed the remaining Sacaens critically, sneering. They were a cowardly bunch, staying far away from him, yet still forming a ring around him. He suspected that if he charged immediately, they would scatter and disperse.

There was a hoarse battle cry from above.

He lifted his head alertly.

From the plateaus that ringed the plains, countless nomad troopers emerged astride their horses proudly, their short bows glinting dangerously in the sunlight. Another battle cry sounded and they all retrieved arrows from the leather quivers on their backs.

He understood the last battle cry.

Fire.

All of a sudden, it felt as though the sun itself had been blotted out by the rain of arrows flying towards him, leaving him with nowhere to hide or dodge. Raising his arm to his face, he shielded his face as much as possible from the incoming arrows. His horse screamed in terror, and turned around on its own accord, attempting to escape from death that surely awaited it.

He cried out, tumbling from his fleeing steed.

A sharp pain pierced his chest, as though someone had taken a dagger and plunged it into his heart and lungs. He summoned his courage to look down.

Through the cracks of his chest armour, he could see the brown-feathered arrow poking from his flesh, its steel tip buried deep in his flesh. He attempted to take a breath, trying to refrain from screaming as a shrill pain like the feeling a thousand knives sliced through his chest. He coughed, spitting out a mouthful of bloodied foam.

Great, they pierced his lung.

Another pain followed, though not so acute as the first, followed by another in his abdomen.

The heartless cads were still firing their short bows as though they thought he could still get up and fight.

He grimaced at the three arrows buried in his body. They had punctured his lung, broken his ribcage, pierced his stomach and shattered his spleen. There was no way…absolutely no way that he would walk out of this alive.

His lips contorted from a grimace of pain and suffering to a slight smirk of dark mirth. Just a while ago, he had been telling Cecilia that it would be improper for the Mage General of Etruria to perish on the Sacaen grass plains.

Apparently, he was going to take a leaf out of her book.

The world tilted around him, making him dizzy. Nauseated, he threw up another pillar of fresh crimson blood onto the ground, most likely from the puncture in his lung. He leant back on the grass, feeling the soft blades of the grass tickle his cheeks. Why had he never noticed how soft the grass was?

Dimly, he heard someone shouting.

Lord Roy was yelling, They had won.

_Finally_. He thought in relief. _Cecilia wouldn't have died in vain. Neither will I._

Should he be happy that he was dying? He had sacrificed his life for the good of Elibe, and his actions, together with Cecilia's, would likely go down in history as acts of patriotism and chivalry, folk legends passed down by mouth from generation to generation.

There was Clarine's voice. She was screaming for the healers. So she had been the first to see him in his pathetic state.

Cecilia was right. There were plenty of other capable people to lead Etruria in the rebuilding works. Clarine was capable, and had great potential. Her brother Klein, equally had much capacity for melee warfare. General Douglas could serve as their mentor and give them the guidance they need.

Etruria would be in good hands.

There was the muffled sound of hooves.

He frowned. He didn't want anyone to heal him. He was the Knight General, and he would die honourably in battle if he needed, as Cecilia had done. They would valiantly sacrifice themselves for the greater good. It was for the best.

The lifeblood was leaking out of him, he was sure. He understood his body well enough. But there was no frightful chill, no dreaded feeling of fear. Instead, he felt slightly warm, and a little dizzy, but that was all the discomfort there ever was, even as the blood poured from his slowly dying body.

His vision swarmed, the colour mixing into a picturesque scene. Was it his imagination? Or was it reality?

"Death is just another path... One that we all must take, is it not? The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, the scheming, the bloodshed, the revenge and the hatred vaporises, and all turns to silver glass... And then you see it." That was what Cecilia had said last night about death. She had not been afraid.

And now, as he lay dying slowly, he empathised with her. He would die sooner or later, be it on the battlefield or on his bed. Everything, all the responsibilities as the Knight General, his burdens to his country, his commitment to his sword, his constant annoyance at Lalum, his continuous scheming in the Etrurian courts…all of it would recede…everything was silver, a shade of grey that sparkled most pleasantly, as though they were welcoming him.

Cecilia had seen a green country, had she not? One that resided under a swift sunrise.

He smiled pleasantly. He saw differently. Perhaps it was the same?

He was not mad; he was not delusional. He may be dying, but he was still rational and clear-minded.

He saw, clearly, the outline of a slim figure walking towards him out of the silver. It was a young woman with green hair, and long robes with high boots. Behind her, the silver receded to reveal a wide expense of shimmering blue sea, with the sun rising at the horizon. The light from the blazing orb shone over the grassy greenery of a land so far away, yet so near.

Cecilia. She smiled, and held out a hand, gesturing to the small boat on the sand by the sea. It would take them to the far away land.

Eagerly, he grasped her hand, holding on tightly. He had the feeling that, as soon as he held on, he would never letting go of it ever again.

Just before he climbed into the boat, he looked at Cecilia's smile, at the rising sun, at the shining sea and the faraway green land.

_Well, that isn't so bad._

_No…No, it isn't._

_

* * *

_

**Author's Note:**

**As usual, one of my works. Probably not one of my best, but hopefully everyone, especially darkblaziken, is agreeable with it?**

**Gandalf is really inspiring.**

**Requests are always open. Any pairing, any quote, a genre and I will do all in my ability.**

**~love snowylavendermist**


End file.
